Substitute
by AirborneGirl
Summary: After the suicide of his friend Pete, Matt tries to support his widow Mel. But who can he turn to when he realises she is beyond his help? Will Alesha be there for him? Alesha/Matt. Rated T for mild swearing and the general content dealing with suicide.


**A/N: **Hi all! I know, I know, I've been neglecting my duties as a fanfic writer these last few months. Hopefully, my brand new story can make up for lost time. Consider it an early Christmas gift! Enjoy the story and Happy Holidays! May all your dreams come true in 2013!

**Spoilers**: Deals with the aftermath of episode "Confession". Set about 6 months after.

**Disclaimer: **Jamie Bamber is, of course, mine. As you should all know. The rest is not. Or are they? NO? Not Jamie either? Oh well...on with it.

**Substitute**

"Hey Matt, you want to come along and grab a pint to celebrate the weekend?"

He shakes his head.

"Sorry, Alesha, next time perhaps. There's something I need to do this evening."

You let him go, since it's none of your business, but you're worried about him. Because you know where he's going and you also know it's getting on his nerves.

It's been six months since Matt's friend Pete, a copper working with the vice office, had committed suicide when a meeting with his former molester had gotten the best of him. They'd been friends since early childhood and had joined the academy together. Even when their lives grew more and more apart, they were still good friends and Matt had always found a welcome home within Pete's family.

It was therefore completely understandable that he found it necessary to spend a lot of time with his friend's widow, Mel and their two young sons. She needs the support and the boys need some kind of a father figure, someone they trust with their grief, but also to watch their footie matches and root for them. Or to help them with their homework and general boys issues.

Matt of course has gallantly stepped up to the plate, considering it completely normal. You'd even go as far as to think he would be insulted had his help been refused. Yet, you can tell he's bitten of more than he can chew and he's at the end of his rope. Mel's claim on him stops him from moving on himself, his own grief left unhealed, his own life put on the backburner in favour of theirs. It's a big sacrifice for any young man and you fear it'll cost him dearly someday soon.

So while you understand it takes time to muddle through the pain of losing a loved one and that there's nothing you can do or say to change it, it doesn't have to mean you like it and it sure doesn't mean you can stop tossing and turning in your bed at night worrying about Matt's wellbeing. To top it off, your own feelings for your friend obstruct your own objective view of the situation. You simply have no right to interfere. You're merely a friend; not a girlfriend, which means for now all you can do is suck it up and hope one of these days Mel's clinginess will subside. Or get redirected to anyone else but her late husband's best friend.

Yes, snooty and unkind as it sounds, that's how you see Mel these days. Clingy, needy, weepy. Four more and you get a new set of seven dwarfs. That's all well and true, but it seems like she wants Matt to be her new knight in shining armour. Perhaps she's not in love with him, but so far, he's replaced his dead friend in every role except the one of lover.

Or has he? Huh, don't think about it!

What has gotten into you anyway? How petty, how absurd is it to feel jealous of a widow just because she turns to the man you love for comfort? How narrow minded have you become when you can't understand Matt too might need her company, because shared pain is always better than trying to work through your messed up emotions alone?

Ugly truth is, you can't help yourself. Yes, you're cruel, you're petty and you want to tell poor old Mel she's not the only single mum struggling in this world and get a grip already! And while we're at it: stay away from Matt! He's mine!

Sweet God, if only it was so easy. Just stake your claim, show your teeth to your opponent and have her back off. But you have even less claim on Matt than she has. He's a free man, free to choose with whom he shares his thoughts, his grievances, his pains.

No matter how wide open your aching arms are.

It's a strange, empty feeling. Right after your rape, he was there. A beacon, a constant, radiating source of warmth and comfort. Always ready should you need him. You tried to be the same to him, even going as far as initiating the smallest way of direct body contact with him. Though it was just your hand on top of his right before his heart breaking testimony, you could tell it helped him, that it meant something. The tentative smile he gave you spoke volumes and his quip about his goldfish was a tell-tale sign he was trying to open up as best as he could in that setting and those circumstances.

With you in the centre of the court room, doing your job, it again felt strange to see hum hug Mel first when the guilty verdict was in, though in no way was it allowed for him to run over to you and hug you instead. Plus, hearing the verdict spoken loud and clear was justice for her too. Pete had been Matt's best friend, but he'd been Mel's husband and the father of their sons.

And yet…the knowledge he shared less with you than with her hurts. Period.

Back then, you still had high hopes it would subside, but as the weeks turn into months, Matt keeps declining almost every offer for a drink or a chat in favour of a family he apparently feels responsible for, but that nonetheless isn't his.

Even Ronnie has pointed out that it might not be a healthy situation with him taking over so many of his late friend's household tasks, but in a rare display of annoyance toward his best mate, Ronnie was none too kindly asked to back off.

More and more it looks like you've lost him.

And screw all morals: it damn well hurts!

As he leaves Mel's house late this Friday evening (make that early Saturday morning), he feels drained. Much as he loved Pete and although he has made a promise to his friend at the funeral service to look out for his family, he was never quite sure how much longer this situation could last until something had to give. As it just did.

He's tired. Bone-tired. First, he figured that spending time with Mel and the boys would bring him some comfort and for a while it did. And he didn't mind at all to do the odd jobs around the house that needed a man's hand. Even taking up Pete's place at the dinner table, though odd at first, has started to feel normal.

Too normal. As soon as that realization sunk in, with a little help from his mates, truth be told, it was like he'd woken up from a splash of ice cold water thrown in his face. Somewhere along the way this family life he has himself submersed in has started to make him choke. Frankly, he never signed up for this. It seems like Mel expects him to simply pick up where Pete has left off. Fill his shoes. Be a surrogate dad to their sons.

Be a surrogate husband to her.

From the get go, he had firmly and decisively drawn the line at sharing a bed, though she offered several times to let him sleep over whenever it got too late for him to leave. Sure, they had a spare bedroom; he'd used it before on several occasions, but for some reason, after a while, he stopped believing she meant for him to use the guest room. Or to sleep at all for that matter. The first time she didn't bother with a bathrobe, showing more of herself than he cared to see, she drove that home pretty effectively.

Just the memory still makes him shudder, not even once stroking his ego. Lovely though she may be as a person, he's not attracted to Mel and even if he had ever been, she's still his best friend's wife, regardless of her status as a widow. It would be all kinds of weird and wrong.

From that moment, whenever she stated he's welcome to stay over, he tried to reject her as kindly as possible. Careful not to mention out loud what her barely hidden innuendo suggested, he told her she's grieving, she's sad, this is a coping mechanism and she would most likely regret even thinking it when the worst part of her mourning is over.

It honestly never really worked very well. Neither did the approach of trying to tell her how it would feel like betrayal to him, how it would seem like committing adultery. That it's just way too soon to consider anything like it. That it would certainly harm the boys would they ever cross that line.

"No, it won't! They love you like a father!" she had cried indignantly just now, before he left. It made him cringe with the implications, but it also strengthened his resolve that he had to put an end to her emotional blackmail right now. Pushing her wailing body away from his, he had kept her at arm's length with outstretched hands on her shoulders.

"Mel, I'm not their father. Pete was and he was excellent at it. I cannot replace him. Not for them. And not for you!"

Her big, tear filled eyes had looked at him reproachfully.

"So you don't care anymore. You just want to walk away from us."

Yes. Hell yes! Part of him desperately wanted to do just that, knowing that if he would give into her unreasonable demands yet again, he would be sucked in even deeper. Every attempt of escape cost him more dearly than the last as Mel is an expert in emotional blackmail, using her children as a weapon against him without a morsel of remorse.

"I won't. But Mel, I have a life to go back to. Friends I need to see."

"How can they be more important than us?"

"You are important Mel! You and the boys. You were important to Pete and I'm not backing away from the promise I made him, but right now, you're asking too much! I'm not him, Mel! Me and Pete, we were never mutually interchangeable. This is the life he should have lived and I regret he's not around to watch the boys grow up or be a partner to you, but it's not my life. It's not the role I need to play in your lives. And frankly, I don't think I could."

"You're a coward! A bloody coward!"

Too tired to fight with her and afraid one of her kids would walk in on them, he raked a hand through his short cropped hair and sighed.

"Perhaps I am, I don't know. But I'm taking a step back Mel, before I suffocate. I'm sorry, but Pete's shoes don't fit me. I'll be there for you and the lads for the special days always and they can call me any time. I would appreciate it if you don't tell them about his conversation and let them come to me when they need to."

"We'll just see about that. They're going to hate you for walking out!"

"Fine, Mel. Tell them whatever you want. I can't stop you. I don't even want to try. Take care of yourself."

With conflicting emotions churning in his stomach, he had seen himself out, leaving a sobbing Mel behind in the kitchen. And while he's driving home, he still isn't sure if he's feeling guilty or merely relieved.

Instinct makes him take a left turn at the next traffic light instead of going straight ahead. There's somewhere he needs to be now, someone he needs to be with. He merely hopes she's home. And awake. And willing to be there for him at this ungodly hour.

It's 4:30 AM on a Saturday morning, but you're wide awake, sitting in your kitchen drinking a cup of coffee. After hours of tossing and turning and giving your pillow one hell of an undeserved beating, you've given up on sleep. Apparently, peaceful slumber is not happening tonight.

It's ridiculous to act like you don't have a clue why. You know exactly why. It's because you're worried about your friend. The look on his face when he declined your offer for a drink, knowing he dreaded where he was going and what was waiting for him there, made you both cringe with madness and dreadfully sad for his benefit.

Ever since then, after going straight home, you've had this feeling that tonight something was bound to happen. Something odd. Something that might require you to stay awake and alert, just so you can be there for him when he shows up.

He will show up. How you know, you don't know. You just know.

So when the intercom buzzer of your flat rings shrilly through the almost silent night, you're neither surprised nor alarmed. Calmly, you buzz him in and unlock the front door when you hear his footsteps approach slowly through the hallway.

For a moment, you drop your collected façade when you take a first glance at your mate. He looks like death warmed over. A shroud of helplessness covers his hunched over form and his sunken blue eyes have all but lost their normal sparkle. He's exhausted and confused and quickly, you take his hand and drag him inside.

The moment you close the door, you open your arms in a welcoming, comforting gesture and the fact he makes a beeline into your embrace only emphasizes his fatigue.

You have no idea how long you stand there together, arms wrapped tightly around his upper body, his arms almost crunching your ribcage as he hangs onto you for dear life. He's shaking violently, sobbing like a child and all you can do is let him empty his overflowing barrel of emotions onto your shoulder. Poor Matt. Always everybody's pillar. Always ignoring his own needs in favour of others. So quick to offer help, so quick to decline any help offered to him. How sad it has come this far. How happy you are he came straight to you.

After a while, the shudders recede and the sobs become sniffles. His hold on you slackens enough for you to start breathing a little more easily and to lead him to your comfortable sofa. As soon as you've made sure he won't collapse the moment you stand, you let go of him and disappear into the kitchen to make some more coffee, adding a splash of brandy to his mug to make him unwind and to warm him up. He did feel like an icicle in your arms. Death warmed over still feels chilly, you suppose.

Filled mugs in hands, you walk back into the living room, to find Matt sitting on the very edge of your sofa, wanting to relax but still too wound up to do so. At the sight of him, your heart overflows with love and caring. You push his mug into his hand and lift it up to his lips.

"Here. Drink this. You need to get warmer. Careful sips, it's hot."

He nods and takes a slow sip, both hands now clenched around the mug, as if afraid he'll drop it. Still in full caregiving mode, you bend down and untie his shoes, taking them off and putting them next to your coffee table. If he finds it odd, he's too knackered to object. Instead, he wriggles his sock clad toes and takes another sip, slowly relaxing as the colour returns to his cheeks.

Minutes later, he drains the last of his coffee and puts the mug on the table. He reaches for your hand and as you offer it, he gently pulls you down on the sofa next to him.

"Thank you, love." He whispers softly, kissing your temple.

"Anytime." You promise him.

It's silent for a short while, then, a little hesitantly, he starts to talk. About the situation he's just walked away from. About his mixed feelings of self-incrimination and relief. About his own pain in losing Pete over something he had always supposed was behind them, forgotten or at least buried deeply enough never to resurface. And how stupid and disloyal he felt because he had never seen how much his friend was still hurting by his past experiences.

There's nothing you can do for him but let him talk. Get it all off his chest in a safe environment, with someone who won't criticize or condemn him, but who'll just listen en provide comfort. His monologue however hurts you deeply, it's so full of self-loathing. It's beyond ridiculous to you that this dear, sweet man simply can't see how much he has to offer, how wonderful he truly is.

When, at last, his speech is over, he dares to glance in your direction, his expressive blue eyes swimming with more unshed tears. On impulse, you wipe them away and with a sigh, he leans into your touch.

"My sweet 'Lesh. I don't deserve your kindness."

Putting up your stern voice, but not taking away your hand, you gently scold him.

"Bullocks! You more than deserve it. Oh, Matt, my dear sweet man, why can't you see what I see? There's so much selflessness in you, I don't know anyone who would have done more for their friend's family than you did. But I fear Mel needs help beyond what you can give her, Matt. And that's not your fault, nor your responsibility!"

"But if I leave her now, she'll break!"

"And if you don't, you'll break, love. Where do you want this to end? Where does she?"

"She's grieving, she doesn't know what she's doing."

"That may all well be true, but that's exactly why she needs some professional counselling. Right now, because she can't deal with her loss, she's living in some kind of fantasy world, where everything's still the way it was, but only with another guy playing the part of loving husband. This is not a soap opera and you're not an actor. You don't have to follow her script and she needs to realise that too."

"Then what about the promise I made Pete?"

"Matt, do you honestly believe this is what he would have in mind? He knew you since childhood, he knew the man you are, so he must also have known you're just not cut out for this. And if he cared about you even a little…"

"He cared a lot!"

"Then he would never have expected you to do the impossible."

He sighs and shakes his head, clasping the hand still resting on his cheek with his own and kissing your palm. You quickly suppress a shudder at the intimate contact.

"Is that what you think I'm doing, Alesha?"

"Honestly, yes. It's in your very nature. It's why so many people love you."

Suddenly, unexpectedly, his gaze is on you, intense, questioning. Hopeful?

"Does that include you?"

There's no day like today, there's no time like the present.

"Absolutely."

And then, his lips are on yours. It's hesitant, attentive and way too short, but it's a few seconds of purest heaven.

"My Lesh, my love."

He smiles, still tired, but a lot more at ease.

"What time is it?"

You glance at the clock on your stereo.

"Quarter to six."

"Have you slept at all, love?"

"Not really. I knew you were coming."

"I know…I'm tired."

"No shit"

A chuckle.

"Sleep?"

"Yeah. Come, let's get some sleep."

Without giving it more than a second's thought, you rise from the sofa and take his hand. Wordlessly, he follows you into your bedroom. In silence, he undresses to his shorts and you take off your bathrobe. Two simultaneous sighs of contentment fill the room as the both of you snuggle up together in each other's embrace, before, finally, sleep claims you both…

The alarm clock reads 1:02 PM when you wake up from a deep, healing sleep in Matt's arms. For a moment, you have no idea what it was exactly that awoke you, but then you hear it again.

A loud, insisting knocking at your front door.

Groggily and careful not to wake your still peacefully slumbering mate, you get up and leave the warm sanctity of your bedroom. Whoever it is sure isn't blessed with the virtue of patience.

"Just a second." You call out to the person on the other side, hoping the pounding will stop before it wakes up your friend, who needs all the rest he can get.

Still thinking it must be a delivery guy with a parcel for one of your neighbours, you open the door only a small crack, but the moment you do, it's slammed open fully by a haggard, hysterical looking woman, who, upon closer inspection, turns out to be Mel. Holding a half empty bottle of scotch in one hand and swaying precariously on her feet.

"Where is he?"

Of course you know exactly whom she's referring to, but you have to keep your cool and fight for time.

"Where is who? How did you know my address?"

"Never mind that! You know who I'm talking about! Now where is he?"

"He's asleep. I'd prefer it if we could keep it that way. He's exhausted."

She laughs at that, a shrill, unpleasant sound, like a howl of a wounded animal.

"Oh, I can believe that. Being all homey and cosy with me and then servicing you too. Done you good, didn't he? Why else would you be walking around in just a bathrobe after noon! You man-stealing skank!"

Takes one to know one. Not the right words to say to a mad woman though. Especially when the bottle slides from her hand and clashes to the ground, shattering it. To your horror, Mel picks up the now sharp-edged, pointy bottleneck and sways it menacingly in your direction. Luckily, her aim is poor because of her inebriation, otherwise she might have caused some serious damage.

"Mel, please let's be reasonable about this!"

"Reasonable?!" Again, the laugh that is anything but. More pointing with her weapon. "No, missy, I'm done with being reasonable. I'm done with people taking my men away. First Pete, now Matt. He belongs with us. With me."

"He's doing everything he can for you, but it's too much. Let him rest, Mel. Please. If you care for him, give him some time to sleep it off. He misses Pete too and he's not used to taking care of a family. I promise I'll let him know you stopped by."

"Right, sure you will."

"I will."

"Very well. For now, but tell him to be there for dinner."

Then, as her aggression subsides a little, and the bottleneck once more gets dropped, she adds, in an almost childlike voice.

"Tell him I'm making pork chops, his favourite."

A sudden gulf of sympathy for this clearly distraught lady grips you and kindly, you let her know:

"Then I'll make sure he won't miss it. Bye Mel."

With a sigh of relief, you close the door as she gives a simple nod and turns to leave. One more crisis averted. For now.

Matt's groggily awake when you get back into bed and snuggle up to his warmth, despite the rather late hour.

"What was that?" He asks, while taking you into his arms with a sigh of contentment.

Perhaps you should lie to him and say it was merely a delivery man, but you don't want to start what might finally become a real relationship between the two of you with lies. Besides, this one is most likely to turn on you and bite you in the arse.

"It was Mel. She was worried about you walking out on her. I told her you would go there for dinner."

He frowns at that and you hastily add: "I'm sorry Matt, it was all I could think of to get her to leave."

He kisses your forehead to indicate he's not angry about that, than whispers the real reason of his concern in your ear.

"That's okay, love. I get it. but what I don't get is how she knew your address unless she searched through my personal stuff. You're not in the phone book, are you?"

"No, and my private address is not on any CPS related website. So yes, I think she must have found it in your personal address book."

He sighs wearily. "I should talk to her about that. I don't know what kind of marriage she and Pete had, but she and I are not married and I don't appreciate her going through my stuff."

"To be honest, this whole situation concerns me, Matt. You should have heard the things she said to me. Like you were committing adultery."

He listens with growing dread to your account of your doorstep conversation and in the end, encloses you in his arms more thoroughly.

"Alesha, I know you're a big girl and you can take care of yourself, but would you do me a big favour?"

"What's that love?"

"Take a step back while I take care of this. This entire situation is getting out of hand and I want to speak to a doctor about Mel's growing dependence on me and her delusions about me and her playing happy couple in Pete's wake. She needs a lot more help than I can give her, but I fear she won't accept any psychiatric intervention without putting up a fight. And I wouldn't want you to get caught in the middle if she thinks you're a threat to her happy family."

"So I should just lean back and accept you're in danger?"

"It sucks, I know, but if I can't get myself uninvolved, neither as a copper or as Pete's friend, I can at least keep you safe. Selfish as it sounds, Alesha, I don't want to add another worry to this list of things that can possibly go wrong."

"I know. And you're right, it sucks. But…sure, I'll take myself out of the equation. On one condition, though."

"What might that be, my love?"

"That I'll have you to myself for a very long time when this whole sordid affair is over."

"Count on it, my sweet 'Lesh."

You seal the deal with a sweet kiss as you snuggle for just one more hour. Before Matt has to go and fulfil your promise to Mel. With a little help…

It's 6 PM when he knocks on Mel's door. She's given him a key, but since he's still, at least in his own mind, just visiting, he's so far never used it and isn't planning to.

Two hours ago, he reluctantly let go of Alesha's warm, soft body to go take a shower, a shave and get dressed. Right after that, he called Ronnie, Natalie and their resident psychiatrist, dr. Armitage. After listening to his explanations, they all agreed to meet at Alesha's flat to discuss the best way to deal with the situation. If any of them wonder about the location of their meeting, it was not mentioned, even though all could tell the moment they arrived that his relationship with Alesha has shifted. From the fleeting look Nat gave him in passing, he could tell she was happy with that at least, even if, for the moment, her concern about the situation they were about to discuss, won from her approval, an approval he didn't know he was looking for until he knew he had it.

Alesha, in the meantime, consulted with James over the phone to assure herself that their little plan had any legal standing should Mel be forced into taking counselling. All the necessary paperwork is in her mailbox within fifteen minutes and Matt grudgingly admired the man's focus and speed.

With the little group present and accounted for and coffee for all of them brewing, it's time to hatch a plan. Matt has called ahead to assure Mel he's coming for dinner and he'll go to her alone at the agreed time. The boys are conveniently staying with their paternal grandparents for the time being, so they don't have to witness what is going to happen to their mum.

Matt gets an hour to try and persuade Mel to accept a more professional manner of grief counselling. If she doesn't accept, Ronnie and Dr. Armitage will arrive to take her by force, her open threat to Alesha basis enough to take her into custody, especially since the broken bottleneck is considered a weapon in this particular case.

It takes Mel quite a while to come to the door, but as soon as she opens it, it becomes quite clear why. Obviously, she's been trying to get rid of the evidence of her last drinking binge. Unsuccessfully, one might add. Her unwashed, unkempt hair is tangled and matted against her flushed face, from which a pair of red rimmed blood-shot eyes look at him with difficulty.

"There you are. Lost your key, didn't you? Come in, I'll check on the pork chops. We're having pork chops, did that b-, eh…Alesha tell you?"

Ignoring her almost slip for the time being and not answering her question, Matt obediently follows her to the kitchen, where he stumbles upon an appalling scene.

The kitchen table is set in what he assumes is supposed to be a romantic setting. She's taken out some pretty nice china and some wine glasses and a candle is burning in the middle.

Too bad that's not the only thing burning. A thick, greasy smoke emanates from the stove, where four charcoal black, sad pieces of meat are disintegrating on a way too hot burner. Even worse, a carelessly draped tea towel has already caught fire and the edges are smouldering, setting off even more smoke as well as a pungent odour. Mel, muttering happily to nobody in particular, seems oblivious to the danger she's put the both of them in and reacts curiously when Matt leaps to the stove, switches off the gas, drops the pan with the cremated pork chops and the almost aflame towel in the sink, turning on the taps. It hisses menacingly, sending off clouds of steam, before settling down.

Silence as thick as the smoke settles on the both of them, before Mel starts to wail softly.

"Dinner. You ruined dinner. Why? I thought…I thought you liked p-pork ch-chops."

With clumsy fingers she tries to salvage the blackened, soaked pieces of her so carefully planned dinner, not realizing there's no dinner left to be saved and that she was very close to burning down at least part of the house. It really breaks his heart to see Mel, whom he's always considered a smart, capable woman and a good wife and mum, so dishevelled, though he's eternally grateful her sons aren't here to witness their mother like this. Poor boys have already been through enough and it hurts him to take the only parent they have left away from him.

Yet, he knows now even more clearly than last night that Mel needs some kind of counselling or treatment before she can fully function on her own again. With the condition she is in now, she'll surely put herself and her children in serious danger. If that happens, she'll lose them for sure.

If they survive, that is.

He has to tread carefully, like approaching a wounded wild animal.

"I do like pork chops, Mel. But these were no good anymore. Leave them be, love. Come now, let's get something else to eat."

She doesn't stir.

"No. I promised you pork chops, so that's what we're having."

Before he can stop her, she's taken out a knife from the block on the kitchen counter. Holding it firmly in her right hand, her left hand picks up a piece of the burnt meat from the pan in the sink.

"I can cut off the bad pieces. It'll still be good, won't it Pete?"

Oh dear.

"Mel…I'm Matt. Not Pete."

Unfocussed eyes turn to him.

"I know that!"

She keeps on cutting at the pork in her hand, Matt awaiting his chance to take the knife from her without injuring either one of them. Her cuts get more aggressive and a moment later – Thank God - , it slips from her wet hands and falls to the floor in a clash. Matt immediately seizes the opportunity to snatch it up and simply throw it out of the kitchen window into the bushes underneath. Slowly, but resolutely, he grabs her upper arms and steers her away from all the dangers in the kitchen. In the blissfully peaceful living room he sits her down on the sofa, taking her wet and trembling hands in his own.

"Mel, listen to me, please."

She turns to him.

"Mel, I know you're grieving. I know you miss Pete and I promised you I would help you get back on your feet. But I think you need a lot more help than I can give you on my own."

She shakes her head so violently, he wonders how it stays on her slender neck.

"No, I'm fine. We're all fine. I won't let the pork chops burn next time, I promise Matt. Don't leave me over dinner gone bad. I just…I wanted to relax a little. Have a drink or two. And I forgot about it. It's not so bad, is it? Just a mistake. People make mistakes all the time. And it won't happen again, I promise. I promise. Don't leave me Matt, not you too."

"I'm not leaving, Mel. But I don't know how to help you on my own. You need someone more equipped. For your boys' sake, you need to accept help."

She yanks her hands away from him, veers up from the sofa, eyes flashing with fire.

"You want to lock me up, don't you? Take my boys away. You think I'm crazy. But I won't let you do that to me. I'd rather kill myself too!"

Treading with care now, he remains seated, but keeps talking to her.

"Mel, no. You wouldn't do that. You'd leave the boys orphans. That's not like you. I admire you, Mel. I always did. You're a strong, capable woman, the best mother and Pete loved you so very much. But even the strongest person could use somebody every now and then. It's no weakness on your side, Mel, if you accept any help when offered."

"It is! I have to take care of my own family. Pete must have thought I could do it, otherwise, he would never…"

And there it is. The very heart of both their pain. To call Pete's suicide selfish is like posthumously stabbing his best friend in the back, again trivializing the impact of the abuse he suffered as a child. On the other side, to sympathize with his choice (if it indeed had been much of a conscious choice) also means he condones his friend's decision to put his family in a tangled mess of despair and self-doubt. As well as to leave his best mate to pick up the pieces and glue them back together, only to find out the cracks will always be too brittle to last. With a shock, Matt realizes he's actually angry with Pete. Why did he never find any help? Why did he allow the situation to get so out of hand? Why hadn't he trusted anyone, not even his own family?

Not even him?

It's a pretty schizophrenic thought process, not to mention exhausting. Seeing the same fatigue settle like a blanket over Pete's widow, Matt now dares to stand up and approach her. Seconds later, she almost literally falls apart in his arms, sobbing and shaking, pretty much in the same fashion he himself had in Alesha's arms early this morning.

The mere thought of his budding relationship with the woman he's loved for years, but who has always seemed so out of league as anything but a friend, perks him up and gives him enough energy to gently push Mel onto the sofa and fetch her a glass of water.

By the time he returns to her side, the doorbell rings and with a sigh of relief, he lets Ronnie and Dr. Armitage inside. Together, the three men convince Mel to come with them. Matt follows her up to her bedroom to pack a few bare necessities. Relief as well as pride swell in his chest. Now that she's accepted the help she knows she needs, Mel is quite calm and collected. She has clearly resigned herself to her fate.

Still, she clings to Matt's hand in the car to the hospital. Matt's glad the doctor has opted out on an ambulance. This way, with a regular car, it doesn't put as much creepy emphasis on the fact they're taking a patient to the hospital to be checked into the mental health ward.

Dr. Armitage has called ahead and when they arrive, a female doctor and a nurse are waiting to take her through the steps of her admittance. For Matt, it's as far as he goes. He and the doctor have taken the task upon themselves to go pick up the boys from their grandparents' home and tell them about what has happened and what will happen to their mother. Luckily, Pete's parents are still practical and capable people, who live nearly and most likely, any judge would grant them temporary custody over their grandsons. It would be the least disruptive to their lives and they can also stay at the same school with all their friends and go to all their sports clubs.

It is, again, after 10 PM when all is said and done. The boys were, of course, pretty upset, but also glad that their mum was in good hands. Now that Pandora's box is opened, they finally dared to admit how she simply wasn't able to cope. Household chores didn't get done, groceries weren't bought, they were forced to wear dirty clothes as neither knew how to do the laundry, having given up on trying when they got screamed at by Mel after a failed attempt, resulting in shrunk shirts and discoloured socks.

Then the drinking had started. Early cups of wine after breakfast in the morning, if she bothered with breakfast at all. The oldest would find empty bottles of wine, rum and scotch hidden all over the house. His voice was shaking when he told Matt, also claiming how happy he'd been when he slowly became their surrogate father. A responsible adult they could turn to.

The youngest one turned his eyes to Matt when they were about to leave, after they'd discussed all necessary details with their distraught but strong and determined grandparents.

"You won't forget about us, will you Matt? You'll still come to watch my matches, won't you?"

His eyes are those of a grownup. One who's already seen too much and has stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago. Again, resentment boils up in his chest as he wants to scream at his friend. Look at him, Pete! Look at the mess you've left behind. He keeps it hidden for now, his emotions have to come secondary to this child's, though he intents on asking the doctor for a few one on one sessions for himself lest he'll crack underneath the weight of his self-appointed responsibility.

He draws both children into a manly hug, one arm around each of their shoulders, pulling them close.

"I won't forget. I promise. I'll come and watch as many matches as I can, okay? Now, be good to gran and granddad and say your prayers for your mum. She will get better, you know. She loves you too much not to fight to get better. So you have to try and be strong for her, do you think you can?"

They nod in silent agreement. Over their heads, Matt's eyes find the steady gaze of Pete's father, who puts him out of his misery by taking his grandsons to the kitchen for a snack before they have to go to bed. His hand, as he shakes his son's best mate's, is only trembling slightly and when he puts it down to old age, Matt lets the quip be what it is. Not everything needs to be said.

In the car, finally alone, he takes out his cell phone and sends a quick message to Alesha. Are you still awake?

The answer comes in less than a minute. She's wide awake and expecting him.

His own answer startles him for its clarity. And it's truth.

I'll be home in ten.

Home.

It's only the second day in a row he stumbles, exhausted, into your open, waiting arms. It's the second time you fix him coffee and let him talk, cry, curse.

And it's also very natural, the second time around, to take him to your bedroom and fall asleep in his embrace, happy he's safe and sound, happy that he can finally get the rest he deserves.

In the morning, it's hard to believe you haven't woken up in his arms more often than just yesterday and today. It's something so…right. Everything about being with him feels like it was always intended to be.

So when he wakes up, smiles his bone-melting smile at you and kisses you lazily, it's only logical for you to discard the shirt you're wearing. He in turn doesn't insult you by asking questions. His hold intensifies, his kiss deepens.

There's no hesitation, no awkwardness or residual fear in your body as the two of you make love. There's no room for doubts or bad memories as he fills you with all he has to offer and you give all in return. It is right. It's as it should be, only even better.

Tomorrow is Monday. Tomorrow you'll deal with the ramifications of everything that has happened this weekend. You know you'll get through this together and you'll support him fully as he continues to support Mel and her family, something you know he could never totally let go of. You don't mind, it's part of what makes you love him.

The future looks bright again. He's no longer a substitute for anyone. He can be himself again.

As long as he's yours.

THE END.


End file.
